


Breathless

by Macx



Series: Shadowside [5]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events in Shadowside Creek, Charles and Erik have a private moment together in the library. Their scars may differ, but they see them in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this piece of art: http://laurazel.tumblr.com/post/9554682410/uh-oh-so-i-decided-to-finally-jump-into-x-men

The library was cast in twilight. The lights were turned down low and night had already fallen outside. The heavy drapes were closed. Books lay everywhere, were stacked up from the floor to knee-high, some stacks higher and listing. There were papers spread on the desk and pens had rolled haphazardly to one side. Charles Xavier’s private library, at the end of a long hallway, was rather off the beaten path of the students living at the manor. It was his study, his office, his refuge. Filled with a private collection, with books so old a museum would weep if they got their hands on them, and a collection of science texts that rivaled a well-equipped college, it was his sanctum.

Right now Charles’ attention was on anything but the books. With a single-minded determination that was normally applied to a science problem or a student’s paper, he explored the long, lean lines of the black-clad form.

Erik let his head fall back against wall as a determined hand slipped under the black turtleneck. Light fingers skimmed over the ridges and lumps of the recent scars. Following their path like on a map, Charles splayed his hand over his ribs, then let his other hand follow. Again the scars were caressed, almost reverently, then the smaller man brushed his lips over Erik’s chin, kissing gently down the exposed neck.

Erik closed his eyes, breath catching in his throat. The fingers were so feather-light, then nails scratched over the marks.

It didn’t hurt. It never hurt. Charles was gentle and caring and almost too careful for him. He wanted to feel. If it meant pain, so be it.

::No pain:: the telepath murmured, teeth scraping over his chin. ::Never pain::

Because there had been too much already. The scars were proof of that. Healed and already paling now, they reminded both men of the near-loss, the agony of separation, the pain of physical and mental wounds.

Charles rested his hand on the flat stomach, a warm weight against hot skin, feeling the flutter of every breath, feeling the pulse of life.

Erik gazed down at the other man. Hair in disarray, longish strands falling into his eyes, skin flushed. He brushed floppy hair back, the silky strands gliding through his fingers. He cupped the smooth face, looking into the deep blue eyes that spoke of so much. Charles never really voiced his emotions, but he didn’t have to. Erik was the recipient of it all. The anchor was deeper now, more, a part of them he couldn’t live without. It had been created by Charles to balance himself, to have something to fall back upon, to rest in another mind and draw strength. It was as much to Erik now, too.

Strength and love and warmth and the knowledge he would never be alone.

::Never:: Charles echoed. ::Never again::

So different, but so very much the same in their need, in their love, in their connection to the other.

Charles pushed up the sweater even more, revealing all the ugliness that had remained of the monster’s attack.

::Not ugly:: he whispered, catching the whispers in Erik’s mind. “You are the most handsome man I ever met. Beautiful::

As was Charles. He was everything; nothing could ever replace this man or come even close to him.

Erik leaned down and kissed him, their lips chasing each other until Charles surged forward, pinning him down and taking control. Erik stepped back, letting the telepath take over, dominate, control. He had never done this with anyone else before. He trusted Charles; only Charles. At least in this. He would do everything.

And Charles would never demand more than he was able or ready to give.

Slipping the belt out of the buckle, his lover ran a teasing finger over the still closed zipper. Erik let it slide down and Charles smiled.

“Eager much?”

And then he sank to his knees, hands brushing over the scars, then further south. Still fully clothed – shirt, cardigan, suit pants – and Erik with his fly open and his turtleneck pushed up to reveal his stomach, Erik groaned when those deft fingers found their prize.

“Gawd, Charles,” he managed, then bit his lower lip to keep from crying out louder.

If anyone ever met this man and thought he was just your regular old, stuffy professor, maybe had never gotten laid, lived a life of celibacy, they couldn’t be more wrong. Charles was anything but that. He was…

Erik’s eyes rolled back and his head thumped against the wall. His fingers scrabbled against the wallpaper and he had to lock his knees. Charles had a technique that let him see stars and pray it would never end before he even got serious, and he liked to practice on Erik. Not that the metalbender would ever refuse.

The strong mind wrapped around his own was just a beautiful, delicate addition to the overall sensation. Sex with a telepath was so much more than Erik would ever have thought and maybe it was different with another person, but with Charles it was heaven and hell, it was pleasure and pain, it was an impossible brightness and the darkest blackness, all wrapped up in one unassuming man.

How his lover had always been turned down by the ladies he had chatted up in the many pubs in England or the bars in America had always been a mystery to Erik. Charles could make anyone do what he wanted; he didn’t need pick-up lines.

“That would be unethical, Erik,” had been Charles’ reply.

So he had refused to influence possible one-night stands and had gone home without getting laid. Those flirt lines had been so terrible, Erik had laughed when Charles had shown him attempts to woo the ladies.

“Groovy?” he had managed between laughs.

“You are, too.”

Only Charles.

It had been so typical and it had almost made Erik laugh again. If he had the ability to read a mind, to make someone else do what he wanted them to do, he wouldn’t have stopped himself.

Charles had. Again and again.

In a way it had made Erik fall even harder for the man. Love was such a weak word for what he experienced when he was with the telepath.

Groovy…

He came with a choked off cry, knees almost giving way, and he something in the room gave in to his exploding powers, dying a quick death. It turned out to be the chandelier, which was now a twisted piece of metal, hanging by what had once been an ornamental chain and now looked like some gross stalagtite.

Charles looked up at him, smug and satisfied, clearly aware of what he had managed to do: blow apart Erik Lensherr’s control, make him come in almost record time and lose himself in the orgasm.

The telepath rose fluidly, damp fingers on the scars again. While Erik had still to regain some of the nervous functions in the broken skin, some areas were highly sensitive and his stomach contracted at the contact.

He tried to get his breathing back under control, but he felt like he had run a marathon. The maddening touch to the mauled area of his body wasn’t helping. For some reason it was more erotic than the blow job. He wasn’t proud of his body; he had never considered his body anything more than a weapon. It had been functional in the past, honed to a perfection that hadn’t been intent to be physically aesthetic or beautiful. He had been hurt in the past. Old scars, faded and barely visible, were evidence of it.

Then there had been Charles who had looked at him as if he had been the next best thing since the invention of ice cream on a hot day. Charles had touched him in a different way, as if he worshipped every inch of his body, loved every corner of his damaged, scarred soul.

Scars.

Too many to count.

Charles knew where each and every one had come from.

He bore his own, just not on the outside. His were on the mind and Erik had come to know them, too.

They were both damaged.

Charles smiled a little as he caught that thought, then closed the last distance between them, Erik’s bare stomach coming into contact with the rough wool of the cardigan. It sent little sparks through him, and the fact that his highly sensitive dick was now trapped against Charles’ pants didn’t help him come down. Actually, he felt like he wanted more.

Harder, faster, deeper. It was a heady feeling, like a drug, an addiction. Charles was his drug and his addiction. Something he didn’t want to let of.

::You are beautiful:: Charles repeated again. ::Perfect. For me. Mine::

A claim that Erik echoed. No one else. Never anyone else. He had fought his own demons to get this, to get Charles, to accept another human being so close to his mind and soul.

This time the kiss was more demanding. Explorative. More teeth. Erik buried his hands in the wavy strands, holding the telepath in place as he explored his mouth, wanting to be everywhere, wanting this man so much it should be scary.

It wasn’t.

This feeling of belonging was so real, no needed, so much part of him, like breathing.

When they separated, his breathing was harder again and the blue eyes glowed with an inner fire that revealed so much more about Charles Xavier than any demonstration of psychic power. Tamed underneath an unassuming exterior, insanely powerful, the world at his feet, humble and yet demanding; Erik’s own power would never measure up to this man.

::I love you:: he sent.

Charles’s fingers were on his lower back, resting there, not moving, two sources of heat. “I love you,” he said out loud.

Every part of him. All the scars and all the damage. His very soul, with every shared of darkness.

Erik closed his eyes, shaky and too close to breaking apart under the open gaze, the trust and love. Charles was in every corner of his mind. There was danger in this contact, one thought could kill him, but he trusted the other mutant. Completely. With his life, with his mind, with his soul.

They had come out of the encounter at Shadowside Creek scarred and aware of how fragile their lives were, their life together. Each day was a new confirmation that things, while they had changed, would be the same again. Them, connected through the anchor bond.

It was what Erik had consciously chosen.

He would always choose it again.

 _I want you_ , he thought. _Always. Never doubt it. Never think I’d want to be alone ever again._

Maybe Charles had initialized the first connection by accident, without asking Erik for his consent, but since then they had come a long way. Charles belonged to him, was a perfect fit to him, and Erik wanted to believe that no one else but him would ever be this perfect for the telepath either.

::No one:: Charles whispered the confirmation. ::No one:: Man or woman. Mutant or human.

Charles’s fingers dug into the firm muscles of his lower back. He buried his head into Erik’s neck, simply holding on.

When they finally parted, Erik felt calmer. The need was a faint echo in his mind. Charles’ expression was one of tamed need himself and Erik became aware of the fact that while he had come, Charles apparently had held himself in check.

“Let me…” he murmured, voice rough, laced with want.

He didn’t wait for a verbal reply, took the deepening color of blue in the other man’s eyes as consent. Guiding Charles to one of the armchairs he pushed the other mutant down into it, then knelt between the loosely spread legs. Strong fingers glided up the pants and he used a fraction of his gift to open the zipper.

Charles watched him, eyes filled with appreciation and wonder at the display. It was always like that. Like watching something incredibly unique and beautiful. Charles saw only beauty in a mutation. Erik saw nothing but beauty in his lover. Charles murmured encouragement when he took him deep, when he played and teased like Charles had played with him, and he clamped his hands onto the strong thighs to keep them from jerking up.

Sometimes they felt playful enough to let go like this; sometimes Erik took it a step further, used the metal at his beck and call to immobilize his very agile lover. Charles had never fought him on it, was always safe, and Erik had no illusions about who would lose if Charles decided he didn’t want it.

::Always want you::

Erik made it a quick, hard and dirty blowjob, just what he picked up from Charles. He wanted it. He wanted to feel the scrape of teeth, the pressure of fingers, the hard suction. And he came with a choked off cry, hips bucking out of the chair and Erik pushed him down hard.

He hummed softly as he felt the hard length slacken, tucking it carefully back into the gray pants. Charles looked sated and had a lazy expression in his eyes. Erik smoothly slid up the still seated form, stealing a kiss. It turned into a long, slow exchanging of kisses and nips, then Erik drew back, needing to breathe.

Charles grinned.

Erik’s expression mirrored it. “You think you can make it through the day?” he asked slyly.

“Mhm, it’s already night.”

“You’re a night owl.”

“I could be convinced to go to bed.”

“Really now.”

Charles slid their fingers together, his mind pushing forward and delivering an array of highly censored images that had Erik groan. Damn the man for playing the kink card!

“You really like that, don’t you,” he breathed, metal shivering as his power spiked briefly.

“I love to watch you, Erik,” was the throaty reply. “You are incredible.”

Linked to him, more or less experiencing Erik’s power through his mind and on his body, it was a thrill to Charles that nothing could match. And Erik felt the reaction through the bond as well.

 

 

They made it to bed eventually. The metal flowed to his command and Erik knew he was lost when it came to his lover. Lost and adrift, but safe and warm within the other mind. Wrapped around his wrists the metal was warm and flexible to the powerful mutant, caressing deceptively smooth and soft skin, drawing moans and whispers from Charles. Like an extension of himself, like a part of his body, the metal stroked over the sensitive skin, played around the peaked nipples, restrained the twisting body for Erik to sheath himself in the heat.

When they lay together afterwards, the night outside filled with the first storm of winter, Charles asleep against him, Erik let his thoughts drift. Things could have gone so wrong so long ago; he could be somewhere else today, filled with hatred and pain, the darkness inside him eating him up. He had been told about a parallel version of himself, a man who had been responsible for paralyzing the other Charles Xavier from the waist down. It had been shocking to know it. It had been even more shocking to see the other Charles, read the pain in his words, see that he had a connection to the man who now called himself Magneto and unable to understand it himself.

One day he would have to go back to that world. A few hours would be fine. He wanted to know what had happened, wanted to see if what they had done to help those two might have led to positive results.

Charles moved sleepily against him, his mind deeply asleep. He looked so young. Younger than he really was. If they had met under any other circumstances… Erik wouldn’t have believed he was already over 21. Protective instincts rose and he laughed at himself. Charles hardly needed protecting.

His eyes started to slide shut and he gave in to the need to sleep. They had no appointments tomorrow, no schedules to keep. They could sleep in and Erik intended to do so, and keep Charles from sacrificing his day off for whatever reason. They needed this.


End file.
